


Jaime Lannister Investigations - Episode 3 of 13

by ShirleyAnn66



Series: Jaime Lannister Investigations [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst ahead, F/M, Modern AU, Remington Steele AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: Series Summary:  The great detective, Jaime Lannister? He doesn’t exist. I invented him. It was working like a charm—until the day he walked in, with his green eyes and mysterious past.Episode 3: Jon Arryn is a dead man walking:  poisoned with the Tears of Lys and with only a few days left to live, he hires Jaime and Brienne to discover who's responsible.





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Jaime/Cersei--including sex. But *spoiler* no incest. Trust me.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I, of course, don't own A Song of Ice and Fire or Jaime/Brienne. I'm taking them out for a spin and will return them, safe and sound, although mayhaps a bit dazed and rumpled.
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Awesome banner by the equally awesome justme. :)

Previously on Jaime Lannister Investigations:

_The door chimes and an elderly man steps into the office.  His hair is grey, his nose aquiline, his shoulders broad.  He’s impeccably dressed and walks tall and proud.  He glances from one to the other of them and says, “My name is Jon Arryn and I want to hire you to solve a murder.”_

_Brienne’s smile is professional.  “Of course,” she says.  “Who was murdered?”_

_“Me.”_  

*/*/*/*/*

Teaser

They hurriedly usher Jon Arryn into their board room and send Bronna scurrying for coffee.  Jaime shares a glance with Brienne before he looks again at their new client.  They sit in tense silence as Bronna brings in the coffee and pours them each a cup. 

Jaime watches as Jon adds sugar to his coffee.  The man’s hands have dark age spots marring their surface, but they still look strong even if they tremble ever so slightly as he pours cream into his cup.

Brienne waits until Jon has taken a sip of coffee and has set his cup down before she speaks.

“What do you mean:  you’ve been murdered?” she asks gently.

Jon’s smile does not last long.  “I’ve been feeling under the weather the last several days.  I won’t bore you with the details but suffice to say it felt like the worst stomach flu it has ever been my misfortune to experience.  I finally went to my maester, hoping he would prescribe extra-strength Pymodium and I could return to work.”  He takes another sip of coffee.  He cradles the cup in his palms and stares at it as if he has never seen it or coffee ever before.  He finally raises his eyes to look at them.  “I have been poisoned,” he says, his voice flat.  “The Tears of Lys.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow.  “Isn’t that a fast-acting poison?”

“Most poisons can be slow-acting if you only administer a little bit at a time,” Jon says drily.  “At least, that’s what my personal maester finished explaining to me about thirty minutes ago.”

“Why would he even test you for poison?” Brienne asks.

“Because I asked it of him.”  Jon sighs.  “Although I hoped I was simply sick with the flu…I knew.  I knew whatever was wrong wasn’t... _natural_.”  He suddenly chuckles.  “Or mayhaps I should say I have a suspicious mind.”

“And dangerous enemies, otherwise you wouldn’t have immediately thought of poison,” Brienne says.

Jon gives her an approving glance.  “True enough, Ms Tarth.”  He leans back in his chair.  “I am, for lack of a better term, Robert Baratheon’s business manager.”

Jaime and Brienne share a startled glance and Jon nods.

“Joffrey’s relationship with Bronna Stokeworth is the reason I immediately thought to come here for your assistance.”

“Bronna didn’t seem to recognize you,” Brienne says slowly.

“With good reason:  she’s never met me.  But that does not mean that I know nothing about her.”  He gives them a tight, cold smile.  “I call myself Robert Baratheon’s business manager—but that job title does not fully explain all that I do for the man.  He’s the most famous man in the world, and one of the wealthiest.  He also has no interest in running his affairs—” Jon abruptly chuckles.  “Mayhaps I should clarify that he has no interest in running his _business_ affairs.  He finds affairs of the heart to be much more interesting and gives those his full attention...for a time, at least.”  He shakes his head and sighs.

“Mayhaps you should start from the beginning,” Jaime says.

Jon takes another sip of coffee and nods.  “My apologies.  I am usually more...focused than this.  Then again, it is not every day you discover you’ve been murdered.”  He gives them a distracted smile.  “I practically raised Robert Baratheon and his brothers, even before their parents died in that cruise ship accident.”

Brienne nods.  Everyone knows the story of the Baratheon Brothers, the biggest band to hit Westeros seventeen years before, led by the legendary Big Bobby B in the first of his many comebacks.  She’d had Renly Baratheon posters plastered over every inch of her bedroom wall when she was thirteen.  She’d cried when the BeeBees disbanded within a year and cried even more when Renly Baratheon came out as gay five or so years later.  Not that she ever would have had an actual chance with the man...but still.  Girlhood dreams die hard.

“I helped get Big Bobby B where he is today, but it comes at a cost.  Keeping him sober, managing his professional appearances, managing his investments.  Keeping track of his alimony payments, not to mention all his child support payments!”  He shakes his head.  “Keeping him from bedding every groupie who flings themselves at him...”  Jon sighs.  “At least he makes sure they’re of legal age first, although that doesn’t always prevent angry fathers and husbands and brothers from seeking revenge.”

“Not surprising,” Jaime says drily.  Brienne gives him a warning look and turns back to Jon. 

“So you believe someone has targeted you by accident?  They were trying to poison Robert Baratheon and you somehow ingested it by mistake?”

“Oh, no—I know I’m the target.  Robert is also far too willing to trust the wrong people.  With me out of the way, anyone could get worm their way into his good graces and gain control of his fortune.”

Jaime frowns.  “That seems rather drastic, don’t you think?  If someone wished to replace you as Big Bobby B’s right hand man, there are much easier ways than murder to accomplish that!”

“Mayhaps,” Jon agrees, “but there is no other reason I can see for someone to poison me.  Outside of the work I do for Robert, I live a quiet life and have no enemies who are not tied in some way to the Baratheon legend and fortune.  I’m wealthy but not overly so.  My wife has a career of her own—in fact, I believe you’ve met her.  Lysa Arryn of WBO?” 

Jaime’s eyes widen.  “Yes.  She interviewed me several weeks ago.”

Jon nods.  “I remember.  Lysa and I have been happily married for many years.  We have one son, five years old.”  He shakes his head.  “No one stands to gain much on a personal level if I die.  But when it comes to my role as Robert Baratheon’s manager...” He shrugs.

“You sound as if you already have a suspect,” Jaime says. 

“There’s only one person I know with a motive,” Jon says.  “Cersei Baratheon, Robert’s third—and current—wife.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow and he leans back in his chair.

“What motive does she have?” he asks.

“She’s a greedy, sadistic bitch,” Jon says, his voice cold, “and she’s determined to wrest control of Robert’s fortune from my hands.  There is little love lost between us.  Plus...” He glances from Brienne to Jaime and back again.  “Everything I tell you is confidential, correct?”

“Completely,” Brienne says.

“Cersei and Robert have had a...stormy relationship, to say the least.  Unlike Robert’s son, Joffrey, they’ve managed to keep the volatile nature of their marriage from the public.”

“Violent?” Jaime asks, his voice tight.

“Yes, from both sides.  She once broke his tooth with a beer mug.  He recently gave her a black eye.  She retaliated with Frey-lax in his mochaccino.”  Jon’s smile is bitter.  “So she also has experience slipping things into food and beverages without detection.”

“That sounds like she has reason to murder Robert Baratheon,” Jaime says.  “What possible motive does she have to murder _you_?”

Jon’s smile is thin.  “There’s also a pre-nuptial agreement that gives Cersei a certain percentage of Robert’s cash and assets for every child she bears him.  But they must be _his_ children.”

It takes a moment for Brienne’s confused frown to clear.

“They’re not—?”

“No, Ms Tarth, they are _not_.  I’ve just run out of time to prove it.”

*/*/*/*/*


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Canon-compliant coarse language.

 

*/*/*/*/*

Robert Baratheon—Big Bobby B—was once a handsome man, his pretty face adorning the covers of magazines all over the world.  Now he still adorns magazine covers, but he’s run to fat, and, judging from the smell, drinks more booze than is readily available in most small nations every day.  Brienne tries to discreetly breathe through her mouth as she shakes his hand and can’t help but notice the slight sneer on Jaime’s face as he, too, shakes the hand of the man known as the King of Rock and Roll.

“I’ve seen you on the news,” Robert booms, ponderously lowering himself in to an armchair.  He grunts a little as he hits the seat with a heavy thud.  “To what do I owe the honor of a meeting with the great Jaime Lannister himself?”  He waves for them to take their own seats.

Brienne grits her teeth but answers him calmly enough as she gingerly sits on the edge of the couch.  “We’ve been hired to investigate a case of attempted murder.”

She and Jaime and Jon had agreed it would be best if they didn’t let it be known the poison had found its mark.  If nothing else, it might cause the perpetrator to make a mistake if they thought they had failed.

Brienne jumps a little as Robert bellows with laughter.

“Has Jon sent you?”  He shakes his head.  “He’s a fussy old woman, that one, always worried about me.  The death threats are no worse than usual and certainly don’t qualify as attempted murder!”

Brienne and Jaime exchange a puzzled glance.  “Death threats?” Jaime asks, leaning back and relaxing against the couch cushions.

Robert booms another laugh.  “Par for the course, boy, par for the course.  I’m the most famous man on Planetos and that makes me a target.”  He suddenly grins a lascivious grin.  “Not that that’s always bad,” he says and winks.

Brienne struggles against a grimace of distaste.  The number of children Big Bobby B is leaving in his wake is the stuff tabloid dreams are made of.  She feels a shiver of sympathy for his wives...even the current one.

“You weren’t the target, Mr. Baratheon,” Brienne says briskly.

Robert looks confused.  “Then why are you here?”

“Your business manager, Jon Arryn, has survived a murder attempt,” Jaime says and thinks it’s not a complete lie.  The man _is_ alive although the hours are ticking away from him, and he’ll be dead in less than three days.

Robert’s jaw drops and his eyes bulge.  “ _Jon?_   Someone’s tried to kill Jon?  Is he all right?”

Jaime can see Brienne flush and he quickly says, “Yes, he’s all right.”  For now, he grimly adds to himself.  “Mr. Arryn has asked us to investigate... _discreetly_.”

Robert’s shocked expression turns thunderous. “Because he thinks it’s one of us,” he growls.  “That’s Jon; always thinking of the potential scandal.  The stupid man should have called in the police and damn the consequences!”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “You don’t believe it was someone in Mr. Arryn’s inner circle?”

Robert snorts.  “I doubt it.  Who would have a reason to kill _Jon_?  Unless—”  His face darkens.  “Unless they’re trying to get to me.”  He slams a fist down on the table beside him, startling them.  “Stannis,” he spits.  “It must be Stannis!”

Brienne’s eyes widen.  “Your brother, Stannis? The drummer of the BeeBees? Why would he want to kill Jon Arryn?”

“Because he’s always wanted to control my money, the tight-ass.  I swear, I can’t remember the last time he cracked a smile, and he’s always nattering at me about controlling my spending and trust accounts and investments and—bah!  Who cares?”

Brienne blinks.  “Yes, well, it doesn’t seem likely—”

“It’s Stannis,” Robert booms, pointing a finger at her.  “Mark my words.  It’s Stannis.”

*/*/*/*/*

Stannis Baratheon still has a superficial resemblance to his brother except he’s bald and hasn’t run to fat and alcoholism like Big Bobby B.  But he has even less resemblance to the young man he’d once been, the neatly groomed drummer of the Brothers Baratheon Band, better known as the BeeBees.  He’d been a serviceable musician, Jaime remembers, but had lacked the flair and passion of the truly great rock drummers.

They explain why they’re there, and Stannis simply clenches his jaw and growls, “Of course Robert would send you to me.  He thinks I’m the cause of every bad thing that happens in his life.”

Robert may not be wrong, Jaime thinks.  Stannis certainly seems more than capable of burning down the world though sheer willpower alone.

Stannis’ teeth grind and then he grits out, “I don’t need Robert’s fucking money.  If anyone’s trying to get his hands on it, it’s Renly.  The foolish boy is forever begging for loans in between royalty payments.”

*/*/*/*/*

To Jaime’s shock and amusement, Brienne turns into a blushing, stuttering fangirl as Renly Baratheon charms his way through their meeting.  He seems genuinely concerned for Jon Arryn, although his worry disappears as quickly as Robert’s once he’s assured Jon is all right.

Renly has also retained his looks over the years and is still trim and handsome and vital, and when he realizes Brienne is a big fan, he deliberately uses his charm to keep her blushing and off-balance.

Jaime has no such reaction to the man, although Renly does flirt outrageously with him.  Jaime flirts back because getting information from someone is sometimes easier while engaging in some harmless flirting.  It also seems automatic for Renly, one of the few celebrities who appears to be actually genuinely happily married.  He and his husband, Loras Tyrell, were, in fact, the first celebrity couple to be married on the day same-sex marriage was legalized in Westeros.

“Who sent you to me?” Renly asks with a crooked smile.

“Your brother, Stannis, indicated you might have some information we’d find useful,” Brienne manages to say with a minimum of stuttering.  Jaime hopes he hides his amusement.

“Stannis named me as a suspect, you mean,” Renly says lightly and laughs, a faint echo of Robert’s booming sound.  “The problem with Stannis is he has no sense of humor.  I only beg for money because I know it drives him mad and when he’s angry, he grinds his teeth like he’s milling flour.  I’m waiting for the day he actually grinds them down to the bone.  Loras _begs_ me to leave the poor man alone, but it’s far too amusing to wind Stannis up and then stand back and see where things fall.  But trust me:  we don’t actually need the money.  Between my royalties from my days with the Baratheon Brothers, my own business interests, and Loras’ family money and his businesses, I definitely don’t need Robert’s money—or the headaches of managing it for him!  Gods, does anyone even know the latest count of kids?  Just keeping the child support payments straight, not too mention all those fucking paternity tests—” He shudders dramatically.  “Why he won’t just get himself snipped...”  He shakes his head.  “No, thank you!  Let Jon have those headaches and good luck to him!”

“Can you suggest anyone who might want to harm Jon?” Jaime asks.

Renly frowns thoughtfully then shakes his head.  “If somebody had actually tried to kill Robert, I could have rattled off a list a half-mile long, with Good Queen Cersei taking up half of it.  But _Jon_?  He’s a pain in the ass when it comes to controlling Robert’s money and time, but still.  He’s just a harmless old man, now, really.”  He pauses, thinking, then shrugs.  “Maybe Joffrey, I suppose, because he definitely doesn’t like being on an allowance or being told what to do.”

“Pretty small motive for murder,” Brienne says and blushes when Renley smiles at her.

“Joffrey’s a pretty small man.  Honestly?  He’s just as likely to try to murder Jon because Jon forgot to the hold the door for him once as he is to do it in order to get control of his father’s fortune.”

*/*/*/*/*

Joffrey, Brienne is pleased to see, is sporting two black eyes and a split and swollen lip.  She tries not to gloat but it’s difficult when she sees the evidence that Bronna returned the black eye Joffrey gave her with interest.  Her father really _would_ be pleased, even as he murdered the little punk.

Joffrey, despite his bruised face, does his best to sneer as they ask him who he thinks would have tried to kill Jon Arryn.

“Gods, who knows?  And why would anybody bother?  I’m surprised every day when I find out the old coot is still alive.”

“Who would be your father’s business manager if Jon were to die?” Brienne asks coldly.

Joffrey gives a careless shrug.  “Not me, if that’s what you’re asking!  I want to spend his money, not have to figure out his monthly child support payments or deal with the whining mothers—thank you, no!”

Jaime smiles slightly.  “So, who would be given full control of managing your father’s money if Jon Arryn were to die?”

Joffrey rolls his eyes.  “Gods, who knows who my father will decide to trust?  Most likely my stepmother.  They may hate each other’s guts, but she’d probably nag the shit out of him and he’d give in just to shut her the hells up.”

*/*/*/*/*

The mansion is huge, garish, ostentatious—exactly the kind of place Jaime expects to be owned by an aging rock mega-star past his prime.  There are enough rooms and distant wings for everyone to do whatever they want and no one would be the wiser.

Then the door opens and _she’s_ there, her golden beauty framed to perfection by the doorway, soft lighting behind her.  Startled surprise ghosts across her features as he and Brienne walk into the foyer with a nod of thanks to the maid who had opened the door.

“Mrs. Baratheon?” Brienne says, her voice crisp and professional, and Jaime pulls himself away from Cersei’s emerald eyes.

Cersei’s gaze flicks to Brienne, dismisses her, then returns to Jaime.  “You obviously live under a rock if you need to ask,” she says in her sweetly dulcet tones, and her voice shivers down his spine and straight to his cock.

“We recognize you from your photos,” he says and knows his voice is unusually husky.  He hadn’t expected seeing her again would knock him so much off balance.  Brienne gives him a suspicious glance from the corner of her eyes and he straightens his shoulders.  He gives Cersei his blandest smile.  “I’m Jaime Lannister of Jaime Lannister Investigations, and this is my associate, Brienne Tarth.”

Cersei’s smile is cool.  “Yes, I’ve seen you on television.  To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“We’ve been engaged by Mr. Jon Arryn to investigate some suspicious activities,” Brienne says and Jaime notes she doesn’t blush at all as she speaks.  Then again, he thinks with rueful amusement, she isn’t lying.

Cersei allows her beautiful face the tiniest of creases as she frowns.  “Suspicious activities?  What kind of suspicious activities?”

Brienne’s smile is brief, her eyes flicking to the still-hovering maid.  “Is there someplace we can speak in private?”

Cersei doesn’t blink for a long moment and Jaime holds his breath, then Cersei says, “Of course.”  She turns and leads them to a beautifully appointed drawing room.  “My apologies,” she says once she’s closed the door behind them.  “You’ve startled and confused me since you’ve arrived without warning.”  She gives Jaime a lightning glance as she speaks to Brienne. She gestures to them to sit, then gracefully sinks into an armchair across from them.  “Now.  Please.  Explain.”

“We’ve been hired to investigate an attempted murder,” Jaime says, carefully watching Cersei’s reactions.

She stares, unblinking, her eyes widening.  “Attempted murder?” she finally says.  “Of whom?”  She suddenly gasps.  “The children?”

“No, no, your children are fine,” Brienne says hastily.

Cersei glances from one to the other and must see the truth in their faces because she relaxes with a sigh of relief.  “Thank the gods.  Joff’s been getting some serious death threats lately—most likely because of his unfortunate relationship with that...that... _Stokeworth_ girl.”

Brienne’s expression doesn’t change.  “Mayhaps,” she says and thoughtfully considers Cersei.  Beautiful, yes, but there’s a cold calculation in her eyes that makes Brienne wonder if Jon is correct in his suspicions.

Cersei raises one golden eyebrow then turns her remarkable eyes to Jaime.  Brienne realizes with a start that the two look so similar, they could be mistaken for twins.

“So who _is_ the victim of attempted murder?” Cersei asks and suddenly chuckles, a deep throaty sound.  “Hopefully not me!”

“No,” Jaime says and she turns to look at him.  For a moment there’s no one else in the room but him and the beautiful golden woman in front of him.  “Jon Arryn,” he says and watches her expression.

Her eyes widen.  “ _Jon?_   What happened?”

“An attempted poisoning,” Jaime says smoothly.  “Luckily the poison was detected before it could do any harm.”

Cersei’s sweetly curved mouth slowly sags open.  “Poison?  Who would do such a thing?”  She snaps her mouth closed, her eyes narrowing.  “The warty old fool pointed the finger directly at me, didn’t he?”

Jaime’s mouth curves into a sardonic smile.  “If for no other reason than you call him a warty old fool.”

Cersei rolls her eyes and shoots a quick glance at a stolid Brienne before returning her attention to Jaime.  “He is warty and old and a fool—just ask Lysa!”  Her smile is cold.  “Don’t tell me—let me guess:  he told you they’ve been happily married forever.”

“They’re not?” Brienne asks.

Cersei snickers.  “If Jon considers being a constant cuckold ‘happily married’, then I suppose he’s not lying.”

Jaime lifts an eyebrow.  “Lysa Arryn has been having an affair?”

Now Cersei laughs outright.  “Just one?”  Then she shakes her head.  “Lysa has had many affairs over the years, most fleeting, however...” she pauses and looks thoughtful.  “There is one that’s lasted—off and on—for years, really.”

“Oh?” Brienne asks.  “Do you know the name of the other person?”

Cersei frowns, a small wrinkle creasing the perfection of her forehead.  “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard the name.  Robert will know, of course.”  She rolls her eyes.  “Jon tells him everything.”

Brienne nods.  “We’ll follow up,” she says.  “Now, how often are you in Jon Arryn’s company?”

Cersei gives her an incredulous look then turns to Jaime.  “I won’t deign to respond to such a stupid question,” she says and rises gracefully to her feet.  “We’re done here.”

Jaime and Brienne also stand and Brienne says, “All right.”  Her smile is cold.  “I’m sure we’ll be speaking again.”

Cersei’s eyes barely flicker.  She turns and leads them back to the front door.  She opens it, then glances at Jaime’s gold hand.  She lifts green eyes to his, and says, “Your hand.  What happened?”

Jaime thinks Cersei almost seems genuinely concerned.  He lifts his hand and turns it so it catches the light.  “An accident,” he says blithely.  “A long time ago.”

Brienne frowns as her two companions stare into each other’s eyes.  The undercurrents flowing between them bothers her, but she precedes Jaime out of the mansion without another word.

*/*/*/*/*


	3. Two

*/*/*/*/*

“What was that about?” Brienne asks as they drive away from the Baratheon mansion, and Jaime thinks she sounds remarkably calm considering the ferocity of the scowl on her freckled face.

Jaime shrugs.  “Cersei Baratheon is the most beautiful woman in the world,” he says lightly.  “She’s even more beautiful in person and it distracted me.”

Brienne shoots him a disbelieving glare.  “What?  You’ve never met a beautiful woman before?”

He raises an eyebrow.  “Of course, but Cersei is...” He smiles almost fondly.  “One of a kind.”

She snorts but drops the subject.

*/*/*/*/*

They find Lysa Arryn in her dressing room at WBO.

“Jaime!  Brienne!” she says, startled.

“Lysa,” Jaime says with a charming smile and a nod.  “How are you?  Do you have a few minutes?”

Her eyes go wide and hunted.  “Oh...I...”

“Don’t worry about me, Lysa,” a light male voice calls from behind her.  “It’s not like we’re doing anything important.”

Lysa’s eyes widen even more as she forces a smile.  “Of course,” she says graciously and steps aside.

The man who had spoken is in his late forties, still dark haired, slender and not much taller than Lysa herself.  Sharp-featured and handsome enough, but it’s the cynically mocking laughter that lurks in the man’s eyes that immediately rankles Brienne.

He smiles at them now and holds out his hand.

“Petyr Baelish,” he says.  “I’m an old childhood friend of Lysa’s.”

“Yes,” Lysa says quickly.  “He’s in town for a few days and dropped by to say hello.”

Brienne raises a mental eyebrow and reluctantly begins to wonder if there’s something to the story Cersei told them after all.

Jaime shakes the other man’s hand.  “Baelish.  Baelish?  Are you the same Petyr Baelish who worked for the National History Museum?”

Petyr’s smile never falters.  “Yes, I am.  I was their Chief Financial Officer until I moved on to a much better position in the Vale offices of the Baratheon Corporation.”

“Ah, yes,” Jaime murmurs, “I remember now.”  He turns to Lysa with an air of genuine concern.  “I’m afraid we’re not here for a friendly visit.”  He waves Lysa and Petyr to a seat on one of the couches, then gracefully sinks down on the second couch beside Brienne.  “Your husband has hired us to look into a case of attempted murder.”

Lysa gasps and her hand flies to her mouth.  “ _Murder?_ ”

Petyr puts his arm round her shoulders and gives her a squeeze.  He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Lysa blurts, “Is Jon all right?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Jon is fine,” he says, soothing, as Petyr’s arm tightens round Lysa’s shoulders.  Jaime struggles not to look at Brienne.

“Jon has asked us to discreetly look into the incident,” Brienne says briskly, and now Jaime does look at her.  Brienne gives Lysa her most professional smile.  “Thankfully, no one was injured—”

Lysa abruptly straightens.  “No one was injured?”

“No,” Brienne says, and Jaime is reluctantly impressed that her demeanour hasn’t changed.  “Jon really is fine.  But, of course, he wants to get to the bottom of the incident, preferably with as little publicity as possible.  The Baratheons, you know,” she adds with a vague shrug of her shoulders.

Lysa looks honestly dumbfounded as Petyr says, “That’s wonderful!  I’m very grateful that no real harm has been done to Jon!  Tell me, what happened?”

Jaime smiles.  “We’re not at liberty to say.”

Petyr’s gaze is steady although his smile is cool.  “Of course.”

“Now, Lysa,” Brienne says, “do you know of anyone who might have a reason to harm Jon?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head.  “Everyone loves Jon!  Well.  Except for Cersei, of course.  They’re always arguing over the management of Robert’s money and assets.”

Petyr grimaces.  “Worst part about taking the job, actually,” he says with a confiding smile.

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “You have a lot of contact with Cersei Baratheon from your office in the Vale?”

“Cersei Baratheon sticks her nose into _everything_ ,” Lysa says flatly.

“Now, Lysa—”

“She was spreading malicious lies about me, Petyr, hoping to ruin my marriage!”  Lysa wrenches herself away from Petyr’s grip to stand and pace the small dressing room.  “She hates me, she hates Jon, and I wouldn’t put it past her to try and poison Jon just to hurt me!”

“Why would Cersei Baratheon want to ruin your marriage?” Brienne asks.

Lysa rolls her eyes.  “Who knows why that woman does anything?  She gets some kind of sick pleasure out of ruining lives.”  She agitatedly paces the room, wringing her hands, before she shakes her head and spins to face them.  “It has to be Cersei,” she says firmly.  “There’s no one else.”

*/*/*/*/*

They’re in the car before Jaime says, “You did well in there.”

“So did you.”

“I mean, not letting on that Lysa had made a critical slip.”

Brienne gives him an almost sly smile.  “I am a private investigator,” she says.  “I may be a horrible liar, but I do know how to hold my tongue.”

For a moment, Jaime’s vision glazes over as he has a sudden memory of Brienne in that silver lame dress and four inch heels that showed off her already endless legs.

Then he remembers Cersei, and his haze is chased away by guilt.

He blinks and realizes Brienne is watching him from the corner of her eyes with a puzzled frown.  “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head.  “Everything, if Lysa’s slip about the poison means what we think it means.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jon Arryn has visibly worsened, even in the few short hours they’ve been away.  Brienne watches him worriedly as they explain where they’ve been, who they’ve spoken with, and what little they’ve learned.

“Who is Petyr Baelish?” Jaime asks, almost gently.

Jon rolls his eyes as he shifts on the chair in Jaime’s office.  “A parasite,” he grumbles.  “He grew up with the Tully sisters—Catelyn and Lysa—in Riverrun.  They’ve known each other all their lives; practically siblings, really, to hear Cat and Lysa tell it.  Petyr, though...”  He grimaces and shakes his head.  “Anyone with eyes knows he’s mad for Cat...except Cat herself, it seems.”

“Yet we found Petyr with Lysa,” Jaime says.

Jon shrugs.  “They grew up together,” he says again, “and Petyr’s been in the Vale for several months.  I would have been surprised to learn he was in King’s Landing and he didn’t make a point to see Lysa.”

“We were told your wife has had several fleeting affairs, and one that lasted much longer,” Jaime says briskly.

Jon straightens and groans a little with the movement.  Beads of sweat pop out on his forehead.  “Lies,” he growls.  “Filthy lies that you must have heard from Cersei Baratheon.  She hates Lysa.”

“Why does she hate Lysa?”  Brienne asks.

“Why does Cersei do or feel anything?  Because it makes her feel good.  Lysa...had some issues after our sweet Robin was born.  She’d suffered several miscarriages before we finally had him, and then she fell into severe post-partum depression, the poor child.”  His voice turns cold.  “Cersei seemed to feel it necessary to goad my wife at every opportunity, even casting aspersions on my son’s paternity!  The utter gall!”

Brienne frowns.  “Why didn’t you tell us about the depth of the enmity between Lysa and Cersei?”

“It didn’t seem relevant,” Jon says.  “I’m the one who’s dying, not Lysa.”

“Mr. Arryn,” Jaime says slowly with a puzzled frown, “have you told anyone—anyone at all—that you’re dying?”

“Besides the people in this office, I assume?”

Jaime’s smile is faint.  “You assume correctly.”

“No.  You advised me not to, and I agreed.  I have not told another soul.”

“Would your doctor have told anyone?”

Jon barks a laugh.  “Of course not!”

“Not even to report it to the police?”  Brienne asks.  “This is a crime, after all.”

Jon shakes his head. “We’ve been friends a long time,” he says.  “He’s promised he won’t report the poisoning until he absolutely has to.”  He frowns, his sharp eyes flicking from one to the other.  “Why are you asking these questions?”

“Mr. Arryn,” Brienne says gently, “your wife knew poison was involved.”

Jon’s face is expressionless and then he slowly swells with rage, his ashen face turning red.  “How dare you?  Lysa would never be a party to something like this!  She loves me.  She loves our son.  _You_ must have told her!”

“No, Mr. Arryn.  We never told her.”

Jon struggles to his feet, his rage giving him strength.  “I was mad to come here,” he growls.  “I should have dealt with this myself.”

“Dealt with Cersei, you mean,” Jaime says.  “What if she’s innocent?”

Jon snorts.  “Innocent.  That woman hasn’t been innocent since she was a child, and mayhaps not even then!”

“Mr. Arryn,” Brienne says, also standing, “Jon—please.  Sit down and let’s talk about this.  You should keep as calm as possible—”

“ _Calm!_   You’re accusing my wife of murder!”

“We’re not accusing anyone yet,” Brienne says firmly.  “Now, please!  You’re going to speed up the poison’s effects if you don’t calm yourself.”

That seems to get through his anger.  He blinks owlishly at her, his flushed face paling then turning grey.

“Lysa wouldn’t have done this,” he whispers before his eyes roll back and he collapses to the floor.

*/*/*/*/*


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Violence, implied domestic violence, canon-compliant coarse language, and Jaime/Cersei sex. I’m really sorry about the last one…but there’s nothing explicit.

 

*/*/*/*/*

Lysa arrives at the hospital with a stricken Catelyn Stark and Robert Baratheon with her.  Bringing up the rear is a stoic Ned Stark, a smug Petyr Baelish, and a disgruntled Cersei Baratheon.

Brienne and Jaime hurry to meet them.

“Where is he?” Robert booms, and Brienne rears back at the wave of whiskey fumes that washes over her with his words.

“The doctors are still with him; nobody’s allowed in yet,” Brienne says.

“Bah!  I’m the King of Rock and Roll—they’ll let me in!”

Cersei rolls her eyes.

“For the gods’ sake, Robert,” Ned snaps, “this is a hospital, not some over-priced restaurant!  Let the doctors do their jobs!”

Robert glares and swells, his mouth opening.

“He’s right,” Jaime says, at his most soothing.  “The doctors need space and time; you will only distract them.”

Robert turns his glare on him but Jaime’s expression doesn’t change.

“Even Lysa can’t go in right now,” Brienne says.

Lysa turns towards her.  “You said he was all right!”

“We’re conducting an investigation,” Jaime says calmly.  “We’re not going to share everything we know while we’re doing that.”

Lysa glares and Brienne notes that despite the tissues in her hand and Lysa’s glittering eyes, there are no tears.

“I should have been with him,” Lysa says, then her shoulders begin to shake and she covers her face with her hands.

Catelyn rushes to her sister’s side and puts an arm round her, murmuring comforting words as she leads her to the side, where Baelish joins them.

“Did the doctors say how long they’re going to be?” Ned asks.

“They thought they would have news for us in about an hour,” Jaime says.

Ned glances at Catelyn, who nods.

“Let’s go get a coffee, Lysa,” Catelyn says, her voice calm and soothing.  “We have our phones; they’ll call us if we can get in earlier.”

Lysa nods, sobbing now, and allows her sister to lead her away, Petyr Baelish trailing in their wake.

Cersei rolls her eyes as the trio leaves the waiting room, and Robert glares at her.

“What would you know of grief, you bitch?  You’re the one who most likely did this to Jon, just to hurt me!” Robert growls.

Cersei sneers.  “You’re assuming I give a shit about your feelings.”

Robert takes a threatening step towards her and Ned and Jaime spring towards him, each grabbing one of his arms.

“Touch her, and I’ll kill you,” Jaime hisses.

Ned’s eyes widen at Jaime’s words then narrow.  “I’m Chief of Police, Robert,” he says.  “I _will_ throw your ass in jail if I have to.”

Cersei smirks.

Robert catches sight of her face and roars, lunging for her, dragging Jaime and Ned along with him.

Brienne yanks Cersei out of the way, stepping in front of her just as Robert shakes off Ned’s hand and swings his fist.  Brienne dodges but the blow glances off her cheek.  She coldcocks him, sending him sprawling to the floor before Ned and Jaime can pull the enraged rock star away.

_“What by the flames of R’hllor is going on out here?”_

They stop in a frozen tableau and stare at the enraged doctor standing at the door of the waiting room, quivering with rage.  A redhead, the men are all momentarily distracted by her beautiful face.

Brienne presses her hand against her bruised cheek, her knuckles aching, and scowls.

“Just a slight disagreement between husband and wife,” Cersei says, her voice silky.

The doctor’s gaze rakes her from top to bottom.  “Take this disagreement to the police station, where it belongs,” she snaps, her eyes even more contemptuous as she turns her attention to Robert, now sitting up and dazedly shaking his head.  “All of you:  out.  _Right now._ ”

“What about Jon Arryn?”  Brienne says, taking a step forward.

The doctor’s fury softens a little as she takes in the red mark on Brienne’s cheek.

“He’s resting.  We’ve given him something for the pain, but it’s only a matter of time.”

Ned frowns.  “What, exactly, is wrong with him?”

“The Tears of Lys,” Jaime says heavily.  “He’s been poisoned.”

Ned’s eyes narrow and he glares from Jaime to Brienne and back again.  “You’re right, Doctor,” he says, “it _is_ time we took this to the police station.  Where it belongs.”

*/*/*/*/*

They’re put in separate rooms at the police station and grilled by detectives.  Three hours later, Brienne is the first to be allowed to leave.  By then, it’s after eleven at night.  She waits another hour then texts Jaime to let him know she’s going home and she’ll pick him up at his apartment at 7:30.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime reads the text when he’s finally released from his interrogation at one o’clock.

Makes sense, he thinks as he calls a cab and heads to his apartment.  There’s nothing else they can do now, anyway.  He smirks as he remembers Ned Stark’s angry order to stay away from the case and let ‘correct officials’ investigate.  He’s positive Brienne will agree to that as much as he did.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime walks in to his apartment and flicks on the light.

He’s not even surprised to find Cersei seductively draped along his couch.

*/*/*/*/*

“Jaime, is it?” she says as he hands her a glass of Arbor Gold.

“It’s been Jaime before,” he says with a shrug.

“Has it?”  She sips her wine, her eyes dark and heated.  “There have been so many names over the years.”

“You told me once you liked that,” he says.  “Made it seem like you were fucking a different man every time.”

“We haven’t fucked for a long time now.”

“As I recall, you’re the one who told me not to come back.”  He lifts his right hand, the gold glimmering in the light of his living room.  “I’m even more useless to you now.”

Cersei makes a small grimace of distaste.  “Did someone finally catch you breaking in to their safe?”

“Something like that,” he says.

She grimaces again.  “Spare me the gory details.”

“Of course,” he says.  “You’re not here for me, anyway, are you?”

“They think I’m the one who poisoned Jon.”

“Yes.  I know.”

Cersei steps close, placing her hand flat on his chest, right over his pounding heart.  “You know I would never do something like that.”

“I know you would absolutely do something like that,” Jaime says and forces himself to step away, silently cursing the fact that his desire for the cursed woman is still as powerful as it has always been.

Cersei’s eyes grow cold and haughty.  “So you think I’m guilty, too.”

“I didn’t say that,” he says with a smirk.

Her eyes narrow.  “You know I hate it when you play word games with me... _Jaime_.”

 _At least Tywin’s training still holds_ , Jaime thinks.  _Never break character, even when you think you’re alone._

He sips his Northern whiskey and smiles.  “You would absolutely poison someone if it suited your needs, Cersei.  But if you were going to kill anyone, it would be Big Bobby B, not Jon Arryn.”

She sniffs as she takes another sip of her wine.  “You do know me better than anyone,” she says.

Yes, he thinks, and he still can’t stay away.

She finishes her wine and puts the glass down on the bar behind him, leaning in so her body brushes against his.

“I hate that fucking asshole,” she growls.

“You should have left him years ago, when I begged you to run away with me.”

Cersei scoffs.  “To go where?  With what money?  Two small children and Tywin nipping at our heels?  I grew up in poverty before Tywin rescued me, Jaime, and I am not about to give up all that Baratheon money and lifestyle now.”

He gently pushes her away.  “Then why are you here?”

Cersei blinks those incredible green eyes and says, “I’ve missed you.”

 _No_ , he thinks, _you need me.  I just don’t yet know what it is you want me to do._

Jaime’s smile is bitter.  “I’m sure.”

“You don’t know what he’s like!  All...big and fat and hairy, and still mourning his first wife, that insipid cow!”  She shakes her head and presses against him again.  His cock reacts and she smiles.

“You’ve missed me, too—I can tell,” she purrs and kisses him.

*/*/*/*/*

She tells him to keep the gold hand on.

*/*/*/*/*

“Tell the truth,” Cersei purrs, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her fingers playing with the golden hair on his chest.  “You’re playing at being Jaime Lannister just for me, aren’t you?  I hear he’s almost as rich as the Lannisters of Casterly Rock.”  She lifts her head and smiles a satisfied cat-like smile.  “This is a long con for you, isn’t it?  So you’ll have something to offer me that’s better than what I have with Robert.”

Jaime stares into her green eyes, feels her soft breasts pressed against him, her leg sliding over his as her hand slides down his chest and stomach to—

“Yes,” he groans, arching into her familiar touch, “ _yes_.”

*/*/*/*/*


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Angst. Suicide. Death. Coarse language (if we still consider ‘fuck’ worth warning about). Did I mention angst?

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime wakes to an empty bed and the pealing of his doorbell followed by a furious pounding on his door.

He knows it’s Brienne before he even opens it.

She pushes past him, her broad face flushed with fury, her eyes remarkably blue in her rage.

“Cersei Baratheon?” she hisses, spinning to confront him.

Jaime sighs then adjusts the gold hand that had remained on his arm all night.  He’s surprised Cersei has only just left, then thinks the wench should be grateful he pulled on his pajama bottoms before he answered the door.

“ _Gods_ , Jaime!” Brienne shouts.  “She’s a _suspect_!”

Jaime shrugs and strolls to the kitchen.  “Coffee?” he asks.

“This is important, you arrogant ass!  If she tells anyone that you—that she—”

“That we fucked?” he asks, turning to look at her.  “So what if she does?”

Brienne leans close, her teeth bared, her nostrils flaring.  “I’ve worked my ass off to establish a professional reputation!  To be taken seriously!  And that will all be destroyed if Cersei Baratheon shares how she banged the great Jaime Lannister _while she was a suspect in a murder investigation_!”

Jaime leans against the kitchen counter, crosses his arms over his bare chest and sighs.  “She isn’t going to tell anyone,” he says.

“How could you _possibly_ be sure of that?”

He straightens and turns towards the coffee pot.  “Who do you think fathered her children?”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne thankfully remains silent—or shocked—until the coffee is ready.  By then, Jaime’s pulled on a t-shirt, and they’re at the table with cups filled with steaming liquid in front of them.

“How do you know Cersei Baratheon?”  Brienne asks calmly.  Too calmly, if her eyes are anything to go by.

“I grew up with her.  I’ve also loved her ever since I met her, although only the gods know if ‘Cersei’ is her real name.”

“I don’t understand.”

Jaime sighs.  “We all arrived on Tywin’s doorstep in various ways, but in the end, he very deliberately _chose_ the three of us.  Between us, we had everything he needed:  beauty, brawn, and brains.  Only he miscalculated with Cersei.  Oh, she has charm and a beautiful face, and an even more beautiful body—” Jaime pauses then shakes the memories away.  “She was useful as a distraction, or to charm a mark into a quiet location so we could disable them and get what we needed from them.  Usually a key or a combination to a safe or something of that nature—we aren’t petty thieves, after all.  But it eventually became very clear that she was also a liability.  She never planned ahead; couldn’t understand how changing the plan endangered all of us.  There was finally one job—Volantis, I think it was—after which Tywin could no longer risk Cersei’s headstrong behaviour:  she almost exposed him.  He immediately manipulated Robert Baratheon into marrying Cersei, and she’s been with him ever since.”

“If she’s so short-sighted, why hasn’t she told anyone about you and your merry band of thieves?”

“Tywin considered us family,” Jaime corrects with a mocking smile, “even Tyrion, although Tywin barely tolerates him.  Cersei has loyalty…to a certain definition of ‘loyalty’, at least.  She’d never deliberately give us up to the police—not even Tyrion, and she hates his breathing guts.  But to give up Tyrion would be to give up all of us...and that includes her.  I have no doubt that if she could think of a way to get us all arrested that wouldn’t result in her own downfall, she would do it in a moment.”  His smile is thin.  “She at least has enough sense of self-preservation to understand that if she brings one of us down, then she falls, too.”

“And if we find actual evidence that she’s responsible for killing Jon Arryn?  What is she going to do then?”  Brienne runs her fingers through her hair.  “It isn’t just _your_ life she could bring down around us—it’s mine, now, too!”

His smile is sharp, his eyes cold.  “Well, then, let’s hope there isn’t any evidence.”

Brienne glares.  “No, let’s hope she really didn’t do it.”

Jaime lifts his cup in mocking agreement.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne drives them to the office while Jaime calls the hospital to check on Jon.

“Stable,” he tells her.  “Heavily sedated.  Still sleeping.”

Brienne nods, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

They travel in brooding silence and then Jaime says, “You know, this was much more entertaining in _D.O.A._ ”

Brienne grits her teeth, but she recognizes an olive branch when she sees one.  

“Which version?” she asks and is rewarded with a half-smile.

“Well, the 1950 version with Edmure O. Brien is a classic, but the 1988 version with Denys Quaith does have a charm all its own.”

Brienne rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but gives him a smile.

All is not forgiven, but they still have a job to do.

*/*/*/*/*

Bronna and Sam are somber when Jaime and Brienne brief them on Jon’s prognosis as well as the events of the night before.

“Have you found anything that might be useful?” Jaime asks.

“Well,” Sam says, turning back to his computer, “money certainly doesn’t appear to be the motive.”

“Oh?”

“Renly Baratheon was telling the truth.  If he’s asking his brothers for money, it’s solely to yank their chains.  He and Loras are pretty much set for life.  They’re not over-extended, they have good incomes and investments, and Loras Tyrell is also an heir to Olenna Tyrell, the second richest woman in the world—and so far, she hasn’t cut him out of her will.”

Brienne’s eyes widen.  “I...I really don’t want to know how you got this information, do I?”

Sam and Bronna vigorously shake their heads.

“Although the intel about Olenna came from my dad,” Bronna says.

“And I confirmed it through my mother.”  He shrugs.  “They’re old friends.”

“Right,” Brienne says, but her expression is one of disbelief.

“All right,” Jaime says with a chuckle, “what about Stannis?”

“Stannis’ spending habits are frugal, to say the least, and he personally has enough cash and assets to rival Robert Baratheon.  He’s used his royalties from the BeeBees to great effect.

“Now, as for Big Bobby B, he spends his money almost as quickly as he makes it—but he makes it by the bucketload.”

“He hasn’t had a hit song in years!” Jaime scoffs and Brienne gives him a warning scowl.

“He’s called the King of Rock and Roll for a reason, Jaime,” Sam says.  “His old hits still bring in the royalties like nobody’s business.  Plus Jon Arryn has made extremely good investments on Robert’s behalf.”  Sam frowns.  “There _is_ something odd...but it’s hardly worth mentioning.”

“Mention it anyway,” Brienne says.  “Remember:  you never know what might be important in a case.”

“Well, it’s just a small anomaly in the financial statements of the Vale branch of the Robert Baratheon Corporation.  A slightly higher than normal amount of money going out.”

Jaime frowns.  “So?  A company’s expenditures and revenues always fluctuate.”

“Not in the Vale branch; they’re really not a risk-taking division of the corporation.  They’ve been steady as a rock for years—and before you burst a blood vessel, Brienne, I know this because my mother has stock in the company, and I’ve helped her go through the annual reports for the last few years.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Your mother has investments?”

Sam grimaces.  “I keep hoping she’ll use her small nest egg to finally leave my father, but unfortunately, she actually seems to love the jerk.”

“Well,” Jaime murmurs, his gaze meeting Brienne’s, “you can’t choose who you love.”

*/*/*/*/*

Sam and Bronna run down the financial state of the last of the suspects, and Jaime and Brienne reluctantly agree with them:  money is not the motive for this murder.  Even Cersei has enough of her own assets to make her an unlikely suspect.

Jaime and Brienne return to Jaime’s spacious office, collapse on the chairs, and scowl at each other.

“So, if it isn’t money—” Jaime says.

“Well, it at least isn’t directly money,” Brienne says.  “If, as Jon suspects, the motive is to eliminate him so the person can have direct control over _Robert’s_ money—”

“Except no one _needs_ direct control over Robert’s money!  They’re all wealthy enough on their own, without any of the bloody headaches to go along with it!”

“What if it isn’t about the money but the power?  If it’s Cersei who is behind this, maybe it’s because she wants the power of controlling that massive money-making machine.”

Jaime rolls his eyes.  “Do you truly think Cersei is the one behind this?”

Brienne rolls her own eyes in response.  “Do you truly think she isn’t behind this because the evidence doesn’t support it, or because you’re in love with her?”

“I may be in love with her, but that isn’t why I know she didn’t do this!”

They glare at each other, Brienne’s eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a tight, disapproving line.

“Then tell me why you know she’s innocent?”

“Because if she was going to kill someone, it would be Robert,” he snaps.

“Even though Jon is the one who knows her children aren’t Robert’s?”

Jaime sighs and scrubs at his face.  “The pre-nup is in case they divorce.  If they divorce, she gets a certain percentage of Robert’s income for every child she gave him.  If Robert dies, she gets whatever doesn’t go to his acknowledged children, and it’s not conditional on whether she gave him kids or not.”

Brienne stares.

“So...if Robert dies under suspicious circumstances, we need to look at Cersei?”

Jaime scowls.  “Unfortunately...yes.”

“Why hasn’t she taken him out already?” Brienne asks, her hand going to her bruised cheek.

“Because she loves the lifestyle and the constant limelight too much.”

“How is it her past hasn’t been discovered?”

Jaime’s smile is grim.  “Because Tywin is nothing if not thorough.”  He shakes his head.  “Not even Sam will find any gaps in Cersei’s history.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  “Mayhaps I need to ask him to try,” she murmurs.

“Don’t poke the sleeping bear, Brienne,” Jaime says quietly.  “Fear of Tywin has been enough to keep Cersei quiet all these years.  That should tell you something.”

“But it’s not keeping you quiet.”

Jaime smiles.  “You have more to lose than I do if you try to prove anything I’ve told you.”  He glances round his office and returns his gaze to hers.  He gives her a rueful shrug.  “I know you still want to try—and you and the others are already looking into my past—”

She starts a little and Jaime laughs.

“You’re an honest woman, Brienne.  Having me in your life is a struggle.  I understand that.  I’m not even going to tell you to stop—but I _am_ going to tell you to be careful.  Tywin is a dangerous man and he’s already angry that I’m trying to…erm… _retire_.”

Brienne scowls.  “How much of what you’ve told me today is true?” she asks, suspicious.

Jaime shrugs and smiles.  “How much do you want to be true?”

Brienne shakes her head.  “Gods save me from too-charming men who are only out for themselves,” she mutters.

Jaime gives her a mocking salute, then says, “None of this is helping us find evidence about who poisoned Jon Arryn.”

Brienne sighs.  “It has helped us shuffle the suspects from Most Likely to Least Likely.”

“And where is Lysa Arryn?”

She grimaces.  “Most Likely.  She _did_ know he’d been poisoned before she should have known.”

“And what’s her motive?”

Brienne gives him a pitying look.  “You should understand her motive better than anyone,” she says.

He winces.  “The things we do for love,” he murmurs, and abruptly gets to his feet, pacing the office.  “But be that as it may...Lysa let it slip very quickly that she knew Jon was poisoned.  Too quickly?”

Brienne shrugs.  “She was nervous.”

Jaime glances at her.  “You don’t think Petyr Baelish helped her?”

“There’s no reason to think he—or anyone else—did.”

“Except Lysa is a bit like Cersei, I think,” Jaime says thoughtfully.  “She doesn’t think ahead, yet she managed to acquire the poison and then slip it into something Jon ate or drank without detection.”  He shakes his head.  “ _‘The pellet with the poison’s in the vessel with the pestle; the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true_ ’.”

Brienne remarkable blue eyes slowly widen.  “Has this case driven you insane?” she finally says.

“ _The Court’s Fool_ , Dany Kaye, Glynis Jons, 1955.”

Brienne huffs, then says, “All right, so you’re saying...what, exactly?  That Lysa could never have managed this on her own?”

“Oh, I have no doubt she could have poisoned the poor man on her own,” Jaime says, “but not like _this_.  A moment of opportunity and she slips something into his food and drink—yes, but so well planned there’s no trail?”  He shakes his head.  “She’s already showed her hand and we barely questioned her; how could she have managed to keep what she was planning secret from...well...anybody?  No, I’m saying she never would have been able to plan and carry this out so meticulously that Jon can’t even think of when the poison was given to him.”  He stops close to Brienne, looking down at her with glittering green eyes.  “Look, if there’s one thing I understand, it’s a woman determined to stay married for security and money.  Jon Arryn may have been far too old for Lysa, but he was rich and, from all accounts, kind to her.  He turned a blind eye to all her affairs—”

“Except one.”

Jaime’s eyes gleam as he nods.  “Except one.”  His smile is almost feral.  “The things we do for love, indeed.”

*/*/*/*/*

They find Lysa at Catelyn and Ned’s house, and Catelyn, with great reluctance, leads them into the drawing room to see her.

Lysa is pacing, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glittering.  She doesn’t look grief-stricken, Brienne thinks; she looks _angry_.

“Have you slept at all, Lysa?” Jaime asks kindly.

“None of your business,” Lysa snaps, and Brienne wonders where the bright-eyed, overly-perky entertainment reporter has gone.

“Lysa,” Catelyn gently chides, “they just want to help.”

“Help?  Then they shouldn’t have lied to me yesterday!”

“It’s only fair,” Brienne says briskly.  “You lied to us.”

Lysa’s and Catelyn’s heads snap towards her.

“I never—”

“Why was Petyr Baelish in your dressing room?” Brienne says.

“I told you:  he’s an old friend and he stopped by because he was back in town.”

Catelyn frowns at her sister.  “He’s been in town for weeks,” she says.

Now Lysa’s gaze snaps to her sister.  “No,” she says, slowly and clearly, “he only got to town two days ago.”

“He was here for supper before we left on holidays, Lysa,” Catelyn says.

Lysa’s lips tighten, her glare now focused on her sister.  “He told me he only got to town two days ago.”

“Well, mayhaps he had to return to the Vale in between,” Catelyn says, soothingly.  She turns to Brienne with a frown.  “What does it matter?  Petyr grew up with us; he’s like another brother, and he’s as welcome to walk into our houses as any other member of our families.”

“Yes?” Jaime says, his eyes flicking from one sister to the next, before he focuses on Lysa.  “Lysa, we were told you’ve had several affairs during your marriage to Jon Arryn…including a long-term affair with Petyr Baelish.”

Catelyn frowns while Lysa’s mouth curves in a slight smile before she finally laughs. 

“Who on earth told you _that_ mummer’s tale?”  Lysa says.

Jaime shrugs gracefully.  “Several people, actually.  But they all agreed on one other thing:  that the only person Petyr Baelish has ever truly loved is you… _Catelyn_.”

Catelyn’s jaw drops and Lysa’s smirk is instantly wiped away.

“They’re lying,” Lysa grates out through gritted teeth, “and I don’t have time for this.”  She hurries to the door.

“Lysa!” Catelyn cries, hastening after her.  “Where are you going?”

Lysa’s only response is the slam of the drawing room door.

Catelyn turns to them with a helpless look.  “I’m—I don’t understand,” she says.

Jaime gives her his most soothing smile.  “I don’t understand either and I certainly wasn’t expecting that reaction,” he lies.  “Mayhaps Brienne and I should go before she gets back…”

They hear the faint sound of the front door slamming shut.

They stand and look at each other in silence.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Catelyn finally says, distracted.  “There must be other people you need to speak with.  I—I think I’ll go to the hospital as well.”

“As well?” Brienne asks.

“Well, yes…where else would Lysa be going?”

*/*/*/*/*

“I’ve lost her,” Sam says, his voice over the cell phone speaker filling the car.

“Damn it, Sam!  How could you have lost her?” Jaime says.  He glances at Brienne, who’s scowling now as well.

“Well, I mean, I know what building she’s in, but where, exactly, she _is_ in the building—”

Jaime pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Which building?”

“The Tower of the Hand Hotel, in old King’s Landing.  If I can get into their security system, I’ll be able to tell you which room she’s in—but they’re used to protecting visiting heads of state.  I’m going to need some time.”

“Oh, gods,” Jaime groans.

“Exactly,” Sam says.  “It’s also the largest hotel in Westeros—and she’s not registered.  I’ve asked.  And neither is Petyr Baelish—I asked for him, too.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and Brienne dejectedly head to the hospital because, they decide, sooner or later, Lysa Arryn will have to arrive there, if only so she can keep up the appearance of being a grieving, soon-to-be-widow.

There’s a new doctor on duty, who lets them in to Jon’s room.  They find Catelyn there but she leaves soon after, explaining she was going to look for Lysa.

Jaime and Brienne silently watch the shallow rise and fall of Jon’s chest from their seats on opposite sides of the bed.  Brienne’s heart twists with pity for the poor man.

“You know we’re probably never going to be able to prove anything,” Jaime says quietly.

“I know,” she says.

“We’re not very good detectives, are we?”

She glances at him.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean we lost the sword hilt and the dragon bone, and now this...”

“Are you worried about...” she glances round the room and even though they’re alone, she lowers her voice, “Cersei being arrested for this?”

He shakes his head.  “I doubt they thought to try and frame her by planting evidence.  I don’t think they planned on anyone realizing Jon was poisoned.  The Tears of Lys is notorious for being mistaken for death by natural causes.  I think the fact it was discovered is what knocked them so quickly off-balance.”  He looks again at Jon and sighs.   “You know, I’ve broken my fair share of rules and maybe even a law or two, but this...”  He shakes his head again.  “ _This_ deserves justice.”

*/*/*/*/*

They hold silent vigil, until Brienne’s phone vibrates in her pocket, startling her.  She fumbles it out and peers at the unfamiliar number with a frown.

“Brienne Tarth,” she says, keeping her voice low even though she doubts she can disturb the man on the bed.

“It’s Ned Stark.”

Brienne straightens in her chair at the strain in his voice.  “Yes, Chief Stark?”

Jaime swivels his head to look at her, his eyes watchful.

The silence from the other end of the call stretches out. 

“Ser?” Brienne finally prompts.

“Lysa Arryn committed suicide this afternoon.”

*/*/*/*/*

They meet Ned in a small meeting room at the Tower of the Hand Hotel.

“She left a note,” Ned says, his voice heavy with grief.  “She admitted she poisoned Jon.  She’s in love... _was_ in love with Petyr Baelish but he never even looked at her.  She thought...she thought that if she got Jon out of the way that it would bring Petyr closer to her...only she hadn’t counted on the guilt.”

Brienne and Jaime exchange a glance.  “Can...can we see the note?” Brienne says.

“It’s been put into evidence,” Ned says and grimaces.  “A formality while we complete our investigation.  You can see it once the case is closed.”

“You’re sure it was suicide?”

Ned’s eyes are bleak.  “It certainly looks that way.  She rented the room under an assumed name, wrote her confession, then poisoned herself.”  He sighs, his shoulders slumping.  “Sweet Robin’s only five, and now he’s lost _both_ parents,” he mutters. 

He straightens, his face grim.  “Catelyn is beside herself with grief—and not just because Lysa’s dead.  She’s...finding it very difficult to accept that Lysa killed Jon.”  He shakes his head.  “As am I.”

*/*/*/*/*

“What am I going to tell Jon?” Brienne says as she drives them back to the hospital.  The doctor has agreed to bring Jon out of his sedation enough for them to be able to speak to him.

“Tell him it was Cersei,” Jaime says promptly.  “Tell him Lysa is on her way and will be there soon.”

She gapes.  “You want me to lie?  You want me to accuse the woman you love of murder?”

“You’re not really accusing Cersei of murder and besides:  what would be the point of telling him the truth?”

“Because he deserves to know!”

“If he was going to survive this, I would agree with you.  But he only has hours left to live.  Why break his heart before he dies?”

*/*/*/*/*

Jon Arryn is nearing consciousness, his face drawn and pinched with pain as the Tears of Lys continues destroying his internal organs.

Brienne glances at Jaime sitting on the opposite side of the bed, then puts her hand over Jon’s. 

Jon’s eyes flicker open.

He frowns at her.

“It’s Brienne Tarth,” she says, softly and gently.

His frown deepens then clears.

“We know who poisoned you,” she says and looks again at Jaime, who’s watching her without expression.

Jon frowns again.

Brienne feels the flush creep up her face as she struggles to find words.  “You were right,” she finally says.  “It was Cersei Baratheon.  She wanted control over the Baratheon money.”

Jon’s breathing is shallow, so light Brienne almost wonders if he’s died with his eyes open.  She swallows and looks at Jaime, silent and approving on the other side of the bed.

Jon’s lips move but whatever he says is so faint, she doesn’t catch it.

She shakes her head and leans closer.

“Lysa?” Jon breathes in her ear.

Brienne’s surprised at the tears that spring to her eyes at the way he says Lysa’s name. 

“On her way,” Brienne says, blinking rapidly.  “She’ll be here soon.”  She forces a smile and squeezes his hand.  “Go back to sleep,” she whispers.  “Lysa will be here when you wake up.”

*/*/*/*/*

He never wakes again.

Brienne sits beside him, holding his frail hand.  Jaime sits opposite her, his eyes more often on her than the dying man on the bed.

“You should go,” she tells him once, softly, as if anything could wake Jon Arryn now.

Jaime just shakes his head.

*/*/*/*/*

They sit vigil until finally, in the early hours before dawn, there’s something different in the feel of Jon’s hand in hers, and she knows he’s gone.

*/*/*/*/*

They’re silent as they leave the hospital and Jaime drives her home.  She barely notices when he follows her inside her house.

He tentatively touches her shoulder and turns her to face him, then carefully pulls her into his arms and allows her to break.

*/*/*/*/*


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

Several days later, Jaime pokes his head into Brienne's office.  It’s late and they’re the last ones in the office, but she’s still reading something on her computer screen, a small frown line wrinkling her forehead.  She's been even more somber than normal since Jon and Lysa's funerals, and Jaime knows he hasn't really been himself either.

That needs to change, he tells himself, and knocks on the doorframe.

She glances up, blinking owlishly.

"I'm leaving now," he says with a smirk.  "I have a date."

She leans back in her chair.

"So you’re going to continue your affair with Cersei Baratheon?" she asks.  Brienne’s lips are pressed tight and her shoulders are stiff.  Her eyes are angry but Jaime finds no judgment in them.

Jaime considers her for moment, lingering on the beauty of her eyes, then says, "I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"Cersei’s the one who drives our relationship.  She always has.  She lets me know when she wants me and I run to her side.  When she has no further use for me, she sends me away."

"And you go."

"If the lady isn't willing..." He gives a careless shrug but it must not be as careless as he hopes, because there's a flash of pity on Brienne's face.

"You could have any woman you wanted, Jaime," she says.  "You could have had Pia Peckledon just because you walked into the museum that night.  What is it about Cersei that has you so... _devoted_?"

Jaime's smile is sad.  "I wish I knew," he says.  He turns to go, then looks at her over his shoulder.  "Mayhaps you can use your detective skills and let me know what you find."

*/*/*/*/*

Tyrion sees him sprawled on Tyrion’s couch and stops in mid-step.

"You know," Tyrion finally says, continuing into the room, "I thought I would see less of you now that you're a pillar of King's Landing society."

Jaime's smile is bittersweet.  "Like with almost everyone in our little family, I find I can't stay away."

"Ah," Tyrion says.  "Cersei."

"Cersei."

Tyrion sighs and grabs Jaime's empty tumbler from the coffee table.  "I can't do this without a drink, and I suspect you need another one."

Jaime just gives Tyrion a grateful look and nods.

*/*/*/*/*

A/N:  This epilogue was supposed to be longer, but…I think this works best.  :)


End file.
